She glanced at me and said with a nostalgic sigh, “Maybe Daniel will join us for dessert. It’s been so long.” Her words caught me off guard, stirring emotions I wasn’t ready to feel. I excused myself briefly to call Daniel, hoping he could help. But he sounded distant and said he was busy with work.
Back in the kitchen, I tried to steer the evening gently. “Eleanor, can I call you a taxi home? I have plans tonight.” She nodded but then paused, her expression suddenly changing. “My head… it hurts,” she said softly. Concerned, I quickly asked where her medication was. She pointed to her purse, and as I searched for her pills, I found a folded note tucked inside.
It read: “Patient shows no signs of dementia.”
I looked up, stunned. “Eleanor… what does this mean?”
Her expression shifted. The confusion in her eyes faded, replaced by a quiet sadness. “Jess, I didn’t mean to deceive you,” she said gently. “After you and Daniel separated, he stopped calling. I felt forgotten. But I missed you. Pretending… it was the only way I could still feel close.”
I sat down slowly, emotions stirring—a mix of surprise, sadness, and compassion. “Eleanor… you didn’t have to pretend.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I thought you’d turn me away if you knew. I just missed the connection we had.”
Just then, the doorbell rang again. Mark stood there, holding a bouquet of flowers and a warm smile that quickly turned to concern. “Is everything okay?” he asked. I hesitated, then replied, “Something came up.” His expression softened, and he squeezed my hand gently before stepping back into the evening.
Inside, Eleanor had gathered her coat. “I should go,” she said quietly. But I stopped her. “Please stay. Let’s spend the evening together.”
She looked surprised. “You still want me here?”
“More than ever,” I said. “Let’s share some tea.”
As we sat together again, the warmth between us began to return. “Jess,” Eleanor said after a long pause, “you’ve always felt like family. Losing touch was harder than I expected.”
I reached across the table, holding her hand. “That connection hasn’t gone anywhere. Some things may change, but the care we share doesn’t have to.”
She gave a small, hopeful smile. “Do you really think we can still be close?”
“I know we can,” I said with certainty.
Eleanor nodded slowly. “Maybe it’s time I let go of the act. I just wanted to feel valued again.”
“You are valued,” I said. “You always have been.”
A calm silence followed, filled with understanding. Eleanor finally asked, “Jess, do you think we could still bake pies together sometimes?”
I laughed softly, tears in my eyes. “Yes, Eleanor. As many as you’d like.”
As night fell and stars dotted the sky, the evening brought something unexpected—not sadness, but healing. Through honesty and compassion, a new chapter began.